


I Don't Mind

by futureboy (PokeRowan)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 20:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11631717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PokeRowan/pseuds/futureboy
Summary: Five times Jeremy didn't mind helping out Matt, and one time he actually did mind a LOT.(Or, Matt Bragg is a tiiiiiny bit dense, and Geoff Ramsey is forty-two, shut the fuck up.)





	I Don't Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rothecooldad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rothecooldad/gifts).



> [RPF disclaimer: Written according to guidelines set by RT employees (to the best of my knowledge). This is a fictional series of events using characters inspired by real people.]
> 
> Happy birthday to @rothecooldad, my same-name Babble Buddy. Hope you like it, pal!! Let’s write fic and swap headcanons for years to come, please ^_^ <3

 

1.

 

Matt Bragg deals with break-ups in the same way he deals with the season finale of the HBO series he watches. After lying face down on the couch for a while, thinking to himself that he really needs to put the cushion covers in the laundry soon, it’s time for a copious amount of junk food, the occasional ‘ _raaargh!!!_ ’ emission, and video games _forever_.

He may only have been dating Charlie for a couple of months, but it still stings.

Halfway through a redstone session – he’s decided to challenge himself with a model of Hogwarts, featuring actual moving staircases – he sneaks his hand into a candy wrapper and notices his chocolate’s disappeared.

All three bars, actually.

‘Sharing’ bars.

I mean, he hasn’t got anyone to share _with_ , so that’s not a problem, but three bars since eight in the evening, when it’s now one in the morning, is still a _fuckload_ of candy. Matt’s exhausted his stash already. It’s only five hours into his misery party, and he’s now totally out of food. His stomach makes a gurgling chocolate-y noise that nearly drowns out his text tone.

****

**_Jeremy: You’re still awake, aren’t you  
Jeremy: I’m coming over_ **

**No, don’t** , Matt texts back frantically.

****

**_Jeremy: Too late!!_ **

 

Oh, Jesus, here we go. Matt considers biting a hole in his Xbox controller, but he stops when he accidentally destroys part of the foundations for the Great Hall.

 

“What did you eat for dinner?”

“A bag of popcorn.”

“Jesus Christ. Have you eaten anything since?”

“Three ‘sharing’ bars of Hersheys.”

“Fuck, Matt, try not to sound _too_ proud of that--”

“I had a snack-ccident!” Matt says defensively. “It could happen to _anyone_.”

He turns back to his project, focusing on the third floor – all of the blocks have been ripped up to hide the redstone he’s laying down, so that when a character walks on specific pressure plates, the stairs shift around.

A plastic box lands in his lap.

Jeremy almost joins it.

“You brought me donuts,” he says, surprised.

“You’re coming over tomorrow,” Jeremy says, from somewhere near his left elbow, “and we’re eating Blue Apron together so you don’t turn into a sentient sugar crystal.”

“But that’s always been my dream,” Matt whines.

Jeremy doesn’t answer, but it’s possible that there’s some eyebrow movement somewhere down there. After a few taps at his cell phone, he seems satisfied; music begins to play softly from the crappy speakers, so the man fully reclines across Matt’s lap, and closes his eyes.

“Whatcha building?”

“Harry Potter stuff.”

“For fun?”

“Yup,” Matt says, returning to his redstone laying. “Just to see if I can, I guess.”

“Cool,” says Jeremy, and sounds like he means it.

Matt takes a second to enjoy this. It feels like old times, when they’d shack up in hotels at conventions together, browsing the internet mindlessly in a heap of limbs until they were completely tired out, and then restart it over, ready for the next day on the gamers’ floor.

He remembers Charlie, for a split second, and thinks that this is probably a better way to spend his night.

“Hey, J?”

“Mm-hmm?” Jeremy murmurs, typing something lazily on his touchscreen.

“…Thanks for staying with me.”

“Not a problem,” he replies instantly, still not looking up. “I don't mind, dude.”

Huh. Matt returns to his project again. It feels like he makes a lot more progress when he’s got warm weight stretched over his legs.

But then again, it could just be the donuts.

 

* * *

 

2.

 

“What's up, pal?”

“Argh,” Matt says, and wants to tear his own hair out, “I wanted to go to this thing, but no-one's free? And I don't wanna go sit and watch it by myself... I'm not really in the mood to let everyone know the truth about me being a fucking loser.”

There’s a live orchestral rendition of the latest Legend of Zelda soundtrack in the next city over, and they’ll probably play classic tracks too, and, _God_ , nobody’s around to come with him. Michael and Lindsay have tickets on another day, Trevor's out of town, so are Kdin and Adam… Gavin isn't even gonna be on the right _continent_.

He’s so sick of doing shit alone that it’s not even funny anymore.

“I'll come,” says Jeremy, straight off the bat.

Matt blinks.

“It's Zelda,” he says. “You don't play Zelda.”

“…So?”

“What if you hate it?” he asks suspiciously.

Jeremy gives a half-hearted shrug. “Doesn't matter if _I_ hate it, it's _you_ that wants to go,” he points out, and mumbles a little when he adds, “so… let's go.”

He can’t believe his fucking luck.

“Are you _sure_?”

“I don't mind,” Jeremy beams, and bares his teeth in a huge, radiant smile.

 

* * *

 

3.

 

It’s real damp outside. Squelchy-damp. ‘Bit drizzly out there’, Gavin had said yesterday evening, before they’d left the office.

Yeah, it’s raining ridiculously heavily, and Matt’s car has decided to start playing up.

He’s walking to work, in the rain, and he’s been single for like, a month? This could have happened earlier and been more poignant, but, y’know, whatever.

God, it’s ass o’clock in the morning and he didn’t even have breakfast. He was too busy phoning the mechanic to come out. What a day. Maybe that car going by will splash him, just to make the situation even more pathetic. That’d really be the cherry on the cake.

Matt is surprised when the car pulls over. This is mostly because he’d already started to think about cake.

The window rolls down, and there sits Jeremy – short sleeves even in the stormy Texas weather, and aviators perched on his orange scalp.

“Get the fuck in, man. We’re going to Torchy’s, and we’re gonna pick up breakfast tacos.”

Matt’s stomach rumbles so loudly that he could probably pass it off as thunder. “But I’ll get your car all wet.”

“Oh, I don't mind.”

“I dunno if I wanna be responsible for ruining your daytime car,” he says, very reasonably. He’s probably just run for it if Jeremy had pulled up in his Mustang.

There’s a sigh from behind the wheel: “do you want tacos or not, dude?”

Matt Bragg, who will never escape the fact that he once said 'donuts are a fruit, right?', considers the proposition for all of two seconds.

“Yeah, that's what I thought,” Jeremy says affectionately, watching Matt wring the worst of the water out of his hair. “Get in the fuckin' car. _Walking to work in the rain_ , what a dumbass.”

 

* * *

 

4.

 

“This is gonna make a fuckin’ good video, though,” Michael says, as way of commiserations.

Matt bares his teeth through the pain, trying to smile but probably just looking slightly wild. “I hope so,” he squeaks, “I definitely suffered enough for it.”

“Sorry again, man,” says Gavin, clapping him on the shoulder.

Matt winces.

“ _Shit_ , Matt, oh _no_ , I’m so _sorry_ \--!!”

“It’s okay,” he reassures him, rolling his shoulder experimentally. “I think I just pulled a muscle, it’s nothing big.”

Word gets around fast about their stupid antics, as per usual – this time, it’s ‘Office Chair Olympics’, a game which involves flinging yourself at an opponent from opposite ends of the room.

Whilst both of you are propelling yourselves forwards in office chairs.

Matt tore up his shoulder, but that had meant Gavin had been disqualified from the final and _he’d won_. “It’s the first and only Olympic event I’ll ever win,” he’d joked, blinking water out of his eyes and rolling around on the floor.

Oh man, it hurts now, though.

“Does it feel good? Winning at sports?”

Everyone else has cleared out of the Achievement Hunter office, except for one Geoff Ramsey (who hasn’t moved from his desk in a while. It could easily be three hours or three _days_ since he shifted into a more comfortable position, because he just doesn’t fucking care).

“Yeah,” Matt says, “I just won all of Sports. Or at least the most legitimate Sports.”

Geoff huffs with laughter quietly, and returns to his work.

“Heard you fucked your shoulder,” says a voice over the door bursting open, and, oh hey! It’s Jeremy, and he looks cheerful, despite the topic of discussion.

“ _Gavin_ fucked my shoulder,” Matt corrects him. “And I won--”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Jeremy snorts, waving a hand, “sit in a chair that _isn’t_ broken, and I’ll make sure you don’t paralyse yourself or some bullshit. C’mon.”

Matt raises an eyebrow, but he does as he’s told.

To great reward, too.

“What are you--?” he says, before letting out an embarrassingly unquieted moan. Oh, god, this is the best backrub he’s ever fucking gotten.

“I picked up some massage exercises and tips in high school,” Jeremy says, and Matt almost doesn’t pick up any of the words, because he’s _melting_. “The doctors taught me a whole bunch of them after I fucked up my leg playing football, but they can work for shoulders, too.”

“ _Thank you,_ ” says Matt, tipping his head back onto the chair and closing his eyes blissfully.

“Anytime, pal, I don’t mind. I’d rather this than, I don’t know, _Matt lost an arm and he’s whining about it like a little b--_ ”

“Shut the fuck up--”

Jeremy barks with laughter, slaps him amicably on the back ( _ouch_ , again), and darts out of the office once more. Presumably, he’s returning to whatever it was he was doing before he got struck with the urge to give Matt a massage.

Matt is liquid in the office chair. He’d never have won in this state.

“Soooooo,” pipes up Geoff. They’re the only two people in the room.

“…So?” he responds.

“You and Jeremy. Are we pretending that’s not a thing?”

“It’s not a thing,” Matt says firmly.

“Will it be?”

“Doubt it.”

“You’re crying in the rain, buddy. You’re both hiding it well, but nothing gets past Ol’ Geoff--”

“ _Old Geoff_ ,” Matt snorts, “You’re forty-two, shut the fuck up. And what the _hell_ does that mean, anyway?”

“You cry in the rain to hide your tears, I don’t know,” Geoff explains. “Similar environment. Cry in the rain, jerk off in the snow, I don’t do either because I’m not a lonely asshole.”

He narrows his eyes. “I don’t do those either. There’s easier ways to show people you’re a lonely asshole without risking frostbite on your dick.”

“Whatever, man,” Geoff grins, “you do you. I’m just sayin’, that’s all.”

Matt ignores him. It’s likely he’ll be able to persuade another massage out of Jeremy later on, if he wants to liquify his brain and forget the whole conversation happened.

 

* * *

 

5.

 

Jeremy’s been coming over for video game nights, or movie nights, or occasionally drag-Matt-to-Jeremy’s-place-to-make-sure-he-eats-something- _fresh_ -nights when he feels up to it. Matt’s car is still screwing around every other week, so sometimes they come straight from the office to start a tournament or a marathon that lasts for hours and hours.

Tonight’s a movie night.

Matt picked, of course, because Jeremy needs to expand his horizons when it comes to classic films – if not for the culture, then for everyone else’s peace of mind. Jeremy Dooley may have actually lived under a rock for several years, if the gaps in his film knowledge are anything to go by.

It’s also quite a pleasant way to get close to him; even though this crush is the most terrible and gross thing to ever happen, ever, or at the very least since Matt’s _last_ crush, there’s plenty of excuses to scooch over. Or tug at Jeremy’s sleeves. Or rest their legs so that they’re both almost-but-not-exactly touching.

Currently, there’s a particularly tense action scene, with a lot of running through corridors.

Matt does what any sensible person would do, and grabs Jeremy’s hand for comfort.

“Uhh…”

Jeremy turns to look at him, and quirks an eyebrow in question.

“What?” Matt says.

“That,” says Jeremy, his eyes flickering down to gloss over their linked hands.

“It's _scary_.”

“We're watching _The Breakfast Club_ ,” Jeremy points out, and, well, maybe he was little too defensive there.

“Detention's scary!” Matt protests.

Jeremy grins down at their hand-holding, and says, “yeah, maybe for _you_ , ya nerd. It's okay, though. I don't mind protecting you from Principal Dickface.”

“For real, though, the character's name is actually Richard,” Matt agrees.

Jeremy laughs, delighted at his lucky shot in the dark, and squeezes Matt's hand.

This is how he wants to spend every night. Crushes really are the worst thing that ever happen to him, _ever_.

 

* * *

 

+1.

 

“I am the physical embodiment of stress right now,” he says, completely honestly, and to no-one in particular. It does feel kinda good to address the kitchen like that, though.

Let it out, Matthew. Let it out.

“…You are?”

Keep it in, Matthew.

Man, who’d’ve guess someone would be in the kitchen, at work, during work hours? Probably not Jeremy, who has his Concerned Face on.

“You wanna talk about it, pal?” he asks, darting to the main fridge and cramming in what looks like some sort of milkshake.

“Well,” Matt begins, and reconsiders.

“Is it your car-?”

“ _Yes_. Yes, it’s my fucking car. It’s totally re-fucked – fucked exhaustively, I think is the technical term for it – and I have a fucking _date_ tomorrow night, and I’m tired of no-one liking me?”

He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question. It _is_ tiring though – the most interaction at home has been with Jeremy and with his mechanic, the latter of whom only called to tell him his car is officially Busted Up. With capitals, for emphasis.

Jeremy’s face hardens, very, _very_ briefly, and then brightens falsely.

“I’ll drop you off, if you like,” he says, “I’m free that evening, so I don’t mind.”

“…Jeremy, why do you keep on saying that?”

“Saying what?”

“Saying ‘I don’t mind’,” Matt presses, “why do you keep doing all of this stuff for me? And with me?”

He’s never seen Jeremy look like a deer caught in the headlights before, but there’s a first time for everything, apparently. “I just,” he says. “You’re… you’re my friend. I don’t… Yeah.”

“But why don’t you _mind_?”

He’s only looking for answers – _everyone else seems to leave,_ is what he actually wants to say, _and I don’t want you to get bored after a few months, too. I can’t go back to solitary Minecraft nights._

“I do mind,” Jeremy mumbles, and looks at his hands.

Matt inhales sharply.

“I do mind, because I don’t wanna take you to a date. Not a date with _someone else_. Fuck that.”

He doesn’t know what to do with his arms. They’re swinging uselessly, and Matt’s hyper aware of how awkward they’re making him look, and, ow, his shoulder twinges out of nowhere.

So he pulls his phone out of his back pocket.

“W… what are you doing?” says Jeremy, alarmed. This is clearly not the reaction he’d expected.

“Well,” says Matt, typing furiously, “first I have to tell my mechanic there’s no rush, and then I have to tell this stranger that I’m not interested anymore. Hey, if you drive us wherever, it’s good if I pay, right?”

“Are you serious?”

“Deathly serious,” Matt grins, and looks up at him.

Jeremy’s eyes are fucking _twinkling_. It’s like all the nervousness he’d ever pent up in his stocky frame just drained out of him in one go – that’s a look of relief, a look of disbelief. Like when you ask someone to prom behind the bleachers after class, and they say _yes_.

God, Geoff’s gonna be so pleased and smug, that _asshole_.

“How do you feel about breadsticks?” Matt asks.

Maybe Jeremy can’t look away from the floor because he’d blind everyone otherwise; he shines, like the universe’s most pleased ball of sunlight, and directs it all somewhere towards the conference rooms.

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Breadsticks are _awesome_ , dude.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://futureboy-ao3.tumblr.com)!


End file.
